Charles Didn't Tell It Like This!
by Jubalii
Summary: When Alucard and Seras get into yet another little spat, the ghost of van Helsing forces the vampire to see the error of his ways in the most annoying way possible; three familiar ghosts that lead him on a time-traveling journey in the course of three hours. Rated M for language


**A Hellsing Christmas Carol**

* * *

"I'm sick of your attitude, vampire!" Granted, Integra Hellsing didn't have holiday decorations all over _her _office, but she still allowed the new butler to place a well-watered pot of poinsettias on her desk. She was well on her way to turning as scarlet as they were from anger as she shouted and waved her fist at her pitiful excuse for a servant. "Damnit all if you're not back 3 months and you have to be causing all sorts of trouble!"

"Trouble, my master?" Alucard's crimson gaze widened in sardonic innocence and he offered her a half-bow, the corners of his mouth beginning to curl in a grin. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean. What trouble could I _possibly _be causing if I'm obeying your previous orders and staying down in the basement?" Integra's mouth tightened almost out of existence and she snarled at her ward before slamming her hand on the desk and rattling everything on it. Two pieces of a report floated off into the floor and she leaned down to pick them up, her hip joint popping from the maneuver. The shadows along the floor reared off their 2-deminsional plane to hand them back to her halfway and she fell back into the chair with a sigh before lighting a cigar.

"You know very well what trouble. Why couldn't you just leave Seras alone? She's been doing the exact same thing for thirty years now. No one bothers her with it—it's some strange coping mechanism she's got, I always thought. And now you've gone and messed up the natural order of things." All traces of mocking left the vampire's features and he growled softly, his eyes narrowing.

"She needs to learn that—"

"She _needs _to be allowed this! Once a year, this—this smallest of concessions is all that she has ever asked for from any of us. And I'll be damned if I let you take it away from her." She frowned at him, taking a leaf (and a phrase) out of her old guardian's handbook. With Alucard, being blunt was usually the best way to go anyway. And she was old now; she didn't have the energy to argue with him like she used to. She wondered if he missed their old screaming matches as much as she did sometimes.

"Master forgets that she's not one of our kind," Alucard replied sharply, eyes almost slits behind his orange frames. "You may not have the best notions when it comes to what's best." Integra laughed hollowly, puffing on her cigar for a moment before responding.

"And _you _are not one of _us_. Women need certain things, Alucard. But you wouldn't know that." She turned to her papers, picking up her pen anew. "Take heed, servant." She spat the title out around the cigar, making him cringe inwardly at the demeaning term. "Her decorations stay. The tree stays. The music stays. If I catch you messing with any of it—or Miss Victoria herself, for that matter—I'll make sure that you pay." She looked up at him, her remaining eye icy with subdued anger. "I may not be a vampire, but I know very well that there are worse things to punish you with than bodily pain." Her unspoken threats hung in the air between them, and he finally gave in with a short bow.

"I understand."

* * *

Moments later, the lower basement level looked as though it'd been levelled by a tornado, washed up in a hurricane, and spit out by a volcanic eruption all in one day. Chairs and tables were splintered; their remains hurtled against the far walls. Light bulbs busted and rained glass down on the cracked stone floors. The only things left intact were an ebony coffin, an antique chair, and the livid man sitting in it and holding its arms tightly enough to crack the gilded edges.

"Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous," he muttered, his shadows flicking up to knock the table aside effortlessly. Alucard hadn't moved a muscle since he'd phased down, but his shadows couldn't hide his fury at the women in the house above him. They made his life a living hell sometimes; he half-wondered why he ever bothered to come back at all. The dark sea of moaning souls he'd been thrown into in the wake of Millennium had been annoying and painful, but he could have dealt with it easily and for eternity. And yet he'd made the choice to willingly return to the world of the living. It was absurd. It was irritating. It was…it was… "Ridiculous."

But he wasn't being entirely honest with himself. It was _that _time of year again, and he'd been hoping that he could simply ignore it like he'd done for as long as he could remember. The Missus van Helsing had called him a Scrooge, he remembered with a malicious sort of fondness. She had been quoting some silly holiday tale that he only read decades later, long after her death. And he hadn't read it out of free will, either. It had been a hellish punishment, forced on him by the young Integra Hellsing when he didn't behave himself. He could still hear the voice, caught between child and woman: "You're not reading it right, vampire—you have to do the _voices, _too. That's an order."

And that was the last time he'd even thought about the damned holiday. Until this week, where he'd woken to see the mansion draped in a blanket of snow. That had sent Seras on a wild winter frenzy, and later that evening she'd been outside, playing a strange sort of game with the soldiers. The object of the game was apparently to throw snow at each other, dodging out of the way behind walls built of the white stuff. It sounded dull, but clearly the two teams were having fun as they became drenched in melted snow—all except for Seras, who lacked body heat and therefore was just covered in snow that couldn't melt until she came inside.

The next night was even worse—she'd decorated the entire mansion by the time he awoke. Holly hung from every banister, wreaths graced every door, and to top it off an enormous tree had been brought in from outside and sat in the foyer, covered in layers upon layers of lights and strings of popcorn and shiny ornaments that reflected the glow until it made his eyes hurt even with sunglasses on. It was beautiful, gorgeous, and sent a warm holiday cheer throughout the mansion—Alucard hated it all.

Even worse, the horrid season had affected his fledgling in another way, too. She was hard-pressed to be angry, even when he brought out his worst teasing and threw it full-force in her face. Any other time of the year, the things he told her would get _such _an amusing reaction. Her little face would blush more crimson than her eyes, and she'd tell him off with a lot of foot-stamping and arm-waving complete with a sound smack to the face by her shadow arm.

But now, all that was gone. She was filled with Christmas cheer and brotherly love, and every time he teased her she'd just chuckle and wave her hand, shaking her head. Not only that, but she whispered around every nook and cranny, tittering to herself about presents that she bought everyone with her saved paychecks. And he couldn't even see what she bought and ruin the surprise for everyone—the dead captain guarded those memories with his entire being, most likely on her orders as she knew her master would try and dampen her spirits in one way or the other.

But this night—this night she went much too far. It had started when he'd walked down to the foyer, where the "little-boys-that-play-acted-big-men" waited. All were there: Sir Irons, Sir Penwood, the younger Sir Islands and even the still-alive, elderly Walsh—they all were waiting for the bi-monthly meeting and were admiring Seras' decorating job. Seras was with them, having let them in and playing good hostess by taking their hats and coats and having her shadows ferry them off to the coatroom. Lt. Walsh, even more forward in his old age than he'd been in youth (if that was even possible) had motioned to Seras and pointed to the doorway that led to the weapons room.

A tiny sprig of mistletoe was there, more as a gag than anything else. He'd seen Seras cackling whenever two men tried to maneuver through the doorway at the same time and their mumbled denials when she told them that tradition called for a kiss. She even tricked Integra into going in there once, but that one had played out better than expected. The young Sir Integra would have shot at both the poor rookie soldier and Seras as they scuttled out of the way, but apparently being old means that you grow more audacious. She'd only smiled good-naturedly at the prank and gave the rookie a chaste peck on the cheek. The poor youth had blushed until steam practically boiled out of his ears and had ran into the doorframe before grabbing his gun and high-tailing it out to the snowy grounds where he could cool off.

Now, Seras blushed daintily as she allowed the old geezer to kiss _her _cheek, laughing as he clicked his tongue at her afterwards. She turned with a smile and said something to the other young men waiting— all of whom immediately colored and avoided her eyes. The old man let out a cackle of laughter and Sir Irons looked up. He stalked over the Draculina and almost forcefully kissed her cheek, his face the same color as the holly berries decorating the trim above the doorway. She laughed and waved him off as well, only to have an entire line of Round Table members wanting to prove that they weren't too scared to kiss the beautiful vampire.

He'd watched with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach as she allowed the children—for to him, that's exactly what they were—come and kiss her, her face slowly becoming flushed as the line progressed. It was a mix of irritation and jealousy, although he couldn't really figure out the latter part. Why should he even be jealous of a bunch of babes? He finally decided it was more possessiveness than jealousy. She acted as if she was a free woman, allowed to anyone who came by and caught her fancy.

Before he knew it, he was standing in the foyer with them, staring at Seras angrily. She missed the cross expression and waved to him with a giggle, her cheek damp from the thirteen or so kisses. The young men all openly gawked at him, and he realized that although he'd seen them when they'd come by for something or another at different times through the year, they'd never seen _him _before. He sneered and they backed away as one. Lt. Walsh laughed wheezily and leaned forward on his cane.

"So you're back then, you old bastard." Alucard gave him a nod, openly acknowledging him. The old man had survived the battle of Millennium and whatever else life had thrown at him—he deserved the vampire's respect, at least. He turned back to Seras with a snarl.

"We'll speak later, Seras," he said quietly, the threat of violence in the air. The smile fell from her face and she blinked in surprise before her brow creased in confusion. "I don't take well to my fledglings whoring themselves out," he added in an undertone. She gasped and a look of hurt crossed her face, only to be replaced by fury.

"_What?!_" she shrieked and he stepped forward, intending to slap her for yelling back at him in front of humans. To his surprise, one of the boys stepped between them. He still had the tiniest remnants of baby fat around his face, despite the spotty mustache he was growing. He stared up at Alucard with terror in his eyes, but still lifted a finger and managed to open his mouth.

"Y-you can't t-talk to her like that. I-i-it's not gentlemanly," he sputtered as he trembled from fear. Alucard growled deep in his throat.

"Is that so? And who's going to stand against me? You?" he asked almost pleasantly, an undercurrent in his tone speaking of imminent bloodshed. Sir Penwood looked as though he were about to wet his pants, but he took one glance behind him at Seras and straightened up slightly, squaring off with the ancient vampire. His voice still shook, but there was an admirable steeliness to his gaze.

"Y-yes. I am." Well, perhaps he looked the youngest, but he clearly had more balls than the rest of the babes put together. Alucard grinned and the shadows around his feet twitched subtly.

"Well then, young man. If you can talk like a man, let's see you fight like a man." He leered and waited for the punch. He'd tear the brat's hand off, just to watch him scream. It wouldn't kill him. Seras caught the danger of the situation and whispered into the boy's ear. He gulped and looked between her and Alucard, clearly trying to figure out whether it was better to lose face or lose a limb.

"That's enough." Sir Integra's voice boomed in the foyer and everyone turned to see her standing on the stairs. She looked between the confrontation and the gaggle of frightened men and tried to hide a smirk. Alucard looked at the Members—the way they looked to Integra as if she were an avenging angel instead of a woman. He realized that she probably held more influence in their lives than their own mothers did. She jerked her head and turned to slowly make her way back up the stairs. "Come along, boys. I want to get this meeting over with."

"Yes ma'am," they chorused as they ran to tramp up the stairs behind her. Sir Penwood seemed hesitant to leave Seras, but when Lt. Walsh began to painstakingly climb he left her to help the old man with his cane. Alucard and Seras watched silently until they heard the sound of the third floor door being shut and then squared off.

"How dare you!" Seras accused in a fierce whisper. "It's not _whoring_; it's just some damn mistletoe!" She pointed to the offending twig. "It's just a little tradition, nothing more!" Her face paled and tears swam in her eyes. "How could you embarrass me like that; and in front of all those people too?!" Alucard crossed his arms and loomed over her intimidatingly.

"Because as long as you hold those," he began as he ripped her collar open and exposed her lingering bite-marks, "you belong to _me. _And until you decide to grow up a little and move on, you'll do as I say. And I say that you're to stop with all this silly holiday nonsense. There's no reason to be celebrating a Christian farce built on Pagan beliefs." Seras slowly turned a dark shade of burgundy as she calmly reached up and snapped her collar back into its proper place. She snarled at him, backing away to try and get around him. He boxed her into the doorway and she pushed at his chest.

"I wouldn't drink your filthy blood if it was the last thing on Earth. I'd rather shrivel and die," she spit angrily. "Too bitter for my taste." He growled and she tossed her head, staring intently at the doorframe an inch from her nose. Her own shadows moved restlessly, both a sign that she was furious and that Pip was starting to get concerned.

"If you want to be indentured to me forever, then so be it. You can have your wish." He backed away and let her stomp by him. She turned at the entrance to the basement, having flung it open and held it with her shadows.

"I have a lot of wishes, Master. I _wish _that you had never come back. I _wish _that I'd never taken that Cheddar mission. I _wish _that you'd have just let me die!" She ended her last note on a high pitched scream and slammed the door shut behind her, cracking the mirror. Alucard stared for a long moment at the mirror, where the crack made it look as though she decapitated him. He frowned and his nose wrinkled at her gall. She'd clearly become disillusioned during his absence. _She's already forgotten how this works—I'm in charge, she is the servant. _

He didn't bother with the door, knowing that the minute it moved the mirror would come crashing down on the carpet. He phased through the floor, landing in his chair silently. He felt the beginning of a night-long brood session creeping up on his mind. He leaned back in his chair, irritated beyond all reason. He waited there until he could feel his master's anger, and her beckoning call.

* * *

It was midnight. He waited in his chambers, since there was nowhere else to go. He'd been banished down to the basement, and Seras didn't want any part of him. He looked around at the destruction he'd caused, thinking over and over about the ridiculousness of it all. It simply _couldn't _get any worse.

"Ehehehehehehehehe…." Alucard straightened in the chair, the familiar chortle washing over his senses. It was finally happening. He was going insane. "Decades pass and you don't change a bit, do you vampire? You just refuse to see how good you've got it." No, he wasn't insane. That voice, that familiar accent that echoed across the room from behind his chair. He didn't want to turn around. If he didn't see _him_, than he wasn't there. However, like a puppet on a string he slowly stood and turned to see a man leaning against his far wall, translucent in the light of the torches. The man was dressed as he was, minus the hat. He looked as he had at his most triumphant moment—when he defeated the Count terrorizing London and made himself a servant from the feared Vampire King. Alucard leaned down in a slight crouch, his eyes shimmering with ill-disguised hate.

"Van Helsing. Back from the grave to ferry my soul so soon?" he scowled. The Dutchman grinned and shook his head.

"No, Vampire King. Where I've gone, you will not follow." He uncrossed his arms, raising them to show the chains hanging down both sides. They stopped just above the floor, and Alucard heard the echoes of clanking that came from the ghostly bonds. "I've been sentenced to an unlife of my own, it seems." The older man looked wearily at the vampire. "For my sin of dealing in occult matters that shouldn't have been tampered with. In order to save my descendants from a similar fate, I was sentenced to wear these chains. When I have paid the debts due to everyone I wronged, then I can finally gain entrance to Paradise." He looked with a strange sort of hope at the chains.

"What does this have to do with me? Are you stopping by just to torment me like you did in life?" Alucard straightened back up, but slowly backed away. He had doubts about fighting a ghost. However, van Helsing shook his head and lowered the chains back to the ground, letting them jangle as he walked towards the vampire.

"No, no. I'm here to help you."

"I don't want your help. I don't need your help." Van Helsing stopped, his face wrinkling in a frustrated scowl that Alucard knew all too well. He raised a chain-laden hand, pointing at the vampire with undisguised anger.

"If you don't stop this destructive path, you'll lose everything you still hold dear! You'll be begging to die and burn in Hell, for your earthly pain will be unmeasurable!" he warned. "Besides, what's done is done and you have no say in the matter at this point. I _am _helping, whether you like it or not." Alucard remained silent and the ghost calmed somewhat. He cleared his throat and pointed to the table-clock currently against the wall, face broken from the impact but still ticking away cheerfully.

"You will be visited this Christmas morning by three ghosts." Alucard raised a hand, already shaking his head.

"No. No—I read this story once to your distant spawn. I won't partake." Van Helsing arched a brow and sniffed haughtily.

"You will be visited this Christmas morning by three ghosts. Without their guidance, you will never change." He looked at the clock with a nod. "Expect the first to appear at one o' clock." He turned, already becoming more and more transparent with each passing second. Alucard stepped forward, holding out his hand despite himself.

"Wait! Can't I just see all three at once and get it over with?" he asked half-hopefully. Van Helsing didn't turn back.

"At the stroke of one, Vampire King. May God have mercy on you."

* * *

**Afterword-** I know lots of people have done the Christmas Carol with Hellsing. This is just my version of it. It's a hoot to write.

Also, my favorite version of the Christmas Carol? Why, the Muppets of course! (We're Marley and Marley, _whhaaaaaa!_ *Jingle-jangles chains*)


End file.
